Short Story: New Cousins

“Well, I reckon this is about the last moment we’ll have in peace, fellahs,”
Pie said, with a gloomy shake of his eleven-year-old head. His real name was James
but he’d been nicknamed Pie on account of his appetite. “A couple of girls about
the place are going to spoil things.

He was leaning against the hard trunk of a spreading eucalypt while his two
brothers, Peter, aged 13, and Chris, aged 7, were aimlessly tossing pebbles into
the broad swiftly-flowing river. On the other side of him was a wide country road,
its grassy stretch broken in the middle by a dusty red track. Beyond the road was
the sleepy little country station.

Every now and again each boy cast an unhappy look in the direction of the
station. The express had already whistled its departure and, any minute now,
their father and mother would appear with the two orphan girl cousins who were
going to live with them, forever.

“Girls – one six and one eleven – sounds awful!” Pie signed.

“But what about muvver, Pie – she’s a girl, isn’t she?” Chris had a baby
voice and was always called Possum because, if he was missing, you could be
pretty sure he’d be up a tree somewhere, fast asleep.

“Yes-s – but she’s different,” Pie frowned; “we’ve got used to her and don’t
really notice that she’s a girl.”

Peter stopped throwing the yellow pebbles into the water and slumped down on
the grass. “Gee, it’s funny how you get all your troubles at once,” he growled.
“As well as breaking this awful news about these girls last night, Dad said he’d
made up his mind that I couldn’t come into the township for the “‘Learn to Swim
Drive’, on the river here. He says it’s too far.”

“Well, it is eight miles, Pete,” Pie pointed out.

“Yes, but it’s the only hope I’ve got of ever learning to swim – there aren’t
any decent water-holes within miles of our place. And I reckon everyone ought to
be able to swim – even a chap who lives on a farm all his life.”

“Don’t start all that about the swimming again,” Possum said crossly. “What
are we going to do about these girls – that’s what I want to know.”

“Yes,” agreed Pie, “that’s far more important. Gosh! We can’t have them living
with us forever. A joke’s a joke, I say.”

Possum puckered his nose shrewdly, and his voice sank low. “What we’ve got to
do is make it too hot for them – so that they won’t like us and will go and live
with some other aunt and uncle.”

“Yes – but what?”

Possum’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm. “We could put a snake in their bed.”

“Yes,” grunted Peter, “and get bitten while we’re putting it in.”

“I meant a dead one, silly,” said Possum with a superior air. “Or we could
let Jimmy the bull chase them. Gee! that’d make them run!”

“Even their names don’t sound promising,” Peter said.

“Mary Ann – that’s sort of stiff and prim – I bet she’ll have a fit if we
put a bit of mud on her dress. And Francelle – well, that sounds much too frilly.
I guess she’ll be one of these girl babies who never stop bawling.”

Possum blinked indignantly. “Gee! she’s not a baby, Pete – she’s six – only a
year younger than me.”

“Well, you behave like a baby often enough,” Pete said unkindly. “Why, the
other day, when you fell down the well, you bleated like a calf until Dad fished
you out.”

Possum was hurt. “Well you wouldn’t have liked it either – it was all mud and
frogs, an’ it was cold an’ wet, too.”

“Well, come back from the edge of the river,” Peter warned, “or you’ll find
that pretty cold and wet in a moment.”

Pie suddenly swallowed hard. “Gee! I wonder if they’ll expect us to kiss them –
kind of welcome them with a kiss?”

Looking as though they’d just been asked to take a dose of castor-oil, the
three boys stared at the two small girls who were crossing the road. Evidently
Mr and Mrs Simpson had stayed behind to collect the luggage and no doubt the
talkative old station-master had button-holed them.

Then they had to stop whispering because the girls were right in front of
them, staring at them with eyes as round as their own. With great effort, Mary
Ann swallowed an apparently mountainous lump in her throat and found her voice.

Peter was a very honest soul and because he couldn’t agree, truthfully, that
he thought it was going to be fun, he remained silent. Possum and Pie, who always
took their cue from him, remained silent, too. But Possum wasn’t silent for long.

As soon as he saw Francelle move forward with that determined expression on
her face he gave one panic-stricken yelp and jumped hastily backwards.

“I knew it was going to happen – I knew!” he muttered. “That – that Francelle –
she wants – to kiss me!”

Possum had no intention of letting her try. As she advanced he retreated –
swiftly – so swiftly that Pete’s warning came too late.

“Possum – the river!”

But Possum, small face suddenly white and terrified, was already bobbing
about in the swiftly-moving current.

“He can’t swim!” Peter cried, horror-stricken. “None of us can.” But he was
already pulling at his boots. “I’ve got to get him!” he said. “Can’t stand by
and watch him drown.”

“Keep out of it!” said a small brusque voice and he turned, in amazement,
to see Mary Ann with spectacles, shoes, socks and coat already off. “I’ll get
him!”

Without another look at Peter she poised herself on the bank, then cut the
water in a clean sharp dive. Strong, beautifully-timed strokes sent her after
Possum.

“She – she can swim!” said Peter stupidly.

“Well – that’s what she said, didn’t she?” Pie snapped anxiously. In the fear
of the moment they hadn’t seen their parents cross the road but now they were
aware that their mother and father, white-faced, were standing beside them.

The first glad cry changed to one of consternation as they saw Possum suddenly
fling his arms around the little girl’s neck and drag her under. For a dreadful
moment they both disappeared beneath the swirling grey water.

Then again their heads bobbed up and the watchers saw the frantic efforts Mary
Ann made to release the small boy’s grip. Somehow, she forced those clutching
fingers apart and turning him over, managed to get a hold under his arm-pits.
Then she started to propel him shorewards. It was slow work, with the current
urging her downstream, but she fought on, valiantly.

“If only her strength will hold out,” Mrs Simpson murmured; “she’s really
only a little thing.”

But Mary Ann’s strength did hold out and, at last, willing hands were taking
her burden from her and assisting her up the bank.

“Mary Ann – Possum – are you all right?” Mrs Simpson was weeping her relief.

“Run and get all the rugs out of the buggy, Pie; we must get these wet clothes
off,” Mr Simpson ordered.

“Gee-e!” Peter gazed at his new cousin admiringly; “you were wonderful.”

“Nothing wonderful about that, Peter,” said Mary Ann. “I used to live at the
sea-side and I’ve been able to swim almost since I could walk. I did the
life-saving course last summer.”

“Golly! I wish I could swim – but Dad won’t –.”

“Don’t say it, my boy,” Mr Simpson interrupted hastily, “because I will.
After this event – which could so nearly have been a tragedy – I can’t say ‘no’.
In fact, I’ll learn, too – we’ll all learn.”

“Oh, Dad – that’s swell. Mary Ann, I’ve got you to thank for this!” Peter’s
eyes were shining. “I – we – we felt a bit doubtful about having girl cousins
come to live with us – but I guess we’ll be doing everything we can now to make
you stay.”

“We certainly will!” cried Pie, returning with the rugs. “You’ll make a great
sister, Mary Ann.”

“You – you can even kiss me, Francelle – if – if you still want to,” said
Possum manfully.

Francelle turned up a snub nose. “I don’t want to kiss you,” said she loftily.
“l was only wanting to give you one of my snowballs, out of this brown paper
bag."